


Fashion Crisis

by thranjewel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Celeborn is whipped, Círdan is grumpy, Elves are vain and ridiculous, Pre-Hobbit, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Young Legolas, thranduil is fabulous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thranjewel/pseuds/thranjewel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wondered why all elves seem to dress so perfectly? Why their robes, cloaks, armour, and even hairstyles seem to follow some sort of high-fashion guideline? Well, it’s Thranduil’s fault…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashion Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> This story is ridiculous, and I acknowledge that. Lots of fun to write though! Please don't hesitate to review :)

“I extend Mirkwood’s warmest welcome to you all. Though rarely do we gather as now, we remain bound through all time as kin; Children of Ilúvatar. While in this realm you may treat my Halls as your home, my lands as if yours. Feel as you will, and roam freely. Though I doubt any desire to roam near the spiders! Treat my people as kindred; share with them songs of old, songs of today, and songs of tomorrow. You may even treat our finest wines as water, if that be your wish; though I would despair to see them wasted so! You may, and let it be said again: be welcome, my kin.” 

With that, King Thranduil concluded his speech. He was rewarded with expressions of polite approval from the elves seated along the meeting table he stood at the head of. Though each would have appeared fair and composed to any mortal eye they were, by elven standard, agitated. Confusion being the primary fuel of this discontent, they began to chatter amongst themselves soon after Thranduil returned to his seat. 

“I fear the Elvenking has come by some terrible knowledge. On my journey to these lands I thought long on what his purpose in summoning us may be. I can find none other than a premonition of horror.” Lord Elrond said to Lady Galadriel, seated to his left. He was continuing a prior conversation between the two about the nature of the meeting they were attending. 

“I should be greatly surprised if Thranduil has come by any insight you have not. Your foresight is fair and far, unrivalled by any present in Mirkwood. Perhaps his purpose is merely convoluted; too exhaustive to commit on parchment or to burden a messenger with.” 

“My Lady! I must insist you do not speak in such a manner while we visit this place! It would not do to offend our host. I have seen how the Elvenking treats those who compromise his honour, and by doubting his insight you surely do so.” 

“O Elrond, that is not at all what I intended! I do not dispute the value of our Eastern kin! I praise them for their skill in many fine arts; skill unrivalled by Rivendell and Lothlorien both, it is likely. But I will not pretend for the sake of Thranduil’s honour, nor anyone’s, that any great wisdom in foresight or lore resides here.” 

“My mistake; but I remain unconvinced of the wisdom of such a stance. I will withhold comment. I fear not the Elvenking’s wrath, but rather the futile effort such a confrontation would command of me. You, my Lady, are true and fearless in all regards. Perhaps this is the unrivalled gift of the Lorien.” 

At this, Galadriel smiled sadly, “Perhaps indeed.” 

Meanwhile, Thranduil had been deep in hurried conversation with a worried-looking servant. Their speech was quiet, and they faced away from the table. The other elves also took this as a queue to dispel their confusion. Finding Galadriel in discussion with Elrond, Celeborn turned to his other side, where sat Círdan, Lord of the Grey Havens.  
Lothlorien had little contact with the Western port; the wood-elves preferring the isolation of their mellorn trees, and the sea-elves preferring the openness of their ocean. However, the two knew each other well enough, and both were desperate to speak their queries. 

“Círdan I must confess I am somewhat unsettled by King Thranduil’s manner,” began Celeborn “it is quite unlike him to be so affable.” 

“That same doubt has not clouded your mind alone. ‘My kin’, he says, ‘my kin’ as if we sprang from Eru yesterday! I harbour no ill-will against Thranduil, yet to call him kin seems to me unnecessary.”

“I quite agree. My suspicions have fixed themselves upon the notion that he desires of us some great favour. Could there be any other reason for such gracious welcome?” 

“I take it you place sheer altruism beyond the realm of possibility?” 

“It would seem so.” 

They fell silent for a short while, contemplating their mutual disconcertion, before Círdan spoke aloud his contemplation: 

“You say he has given us a gracious welcome, yet he pauses to converse and withdraws without explanation. Look; he has left.” 

It was true. Thranduil had followed his servant from the room while the others were busy conversing. Before Celeborn had a chance to respond to this observation, Thranduil re-entered and stood by his chair. The servant did not follow. Silencing the room effectively by clearing his throat, Thranduil began speaking again:  
“I must apologize for that interlude. I will now continue. Firstly, I thank you all again for the long journeys you endured to reach my realm. I am aware the roads you followed were not easy ones. No doubt you all wonder why I have requested this meeting of the heads of Elvendom in Middle-earth. No doubt some of you may be weary, concerned, may even be agitated. I regret to inform you that some of these things will serve well in your consideration of what I must share with you today.” 

Elrond and Galadriel shared a worried glance, thinking the worst of their speculation was indeed true. 

“As the Elvenking of Mirkwood there is much that occupies my mind; much that concerns me. The evil beasts that dwell within my boarders weigh keenly on me, as do the intentions of the wayward travellers who seem to now more frequently trespass my lands. I am concerned with the plight of my fellow elves; many of whom have chosen to leave behind this mortal realm and its strife. This, more than anything, weighs on me as it has caused me to consider the nature of relations between the elves who have yet remained. The relations between us, our people. Too often do we withdraw; not only from the world, but each other. Too often do we know ourselves only as one elf, rather as elves together. These thoughts have led me to conclude that we must unite. I urge you to pause in judgement until I have said all that I must.”

Thranduil paused for dramatic effect, and was pleased to see around the table a mixture of concern and confusion on the faces of his ‘kin’. Galadriel began to wonder if maybe she had underestimated the Elvenking after all. 

“The uniting I speak of now is nothing beyond the reasonable. I do not propose we join our nations together, or any such fancy. I do not propose to move the wood-elves to the Grey Havens, or the sea-elves to the Mirkwood. I only propose that we are the last representatives of our race in Middle-Earth. Surely, we are obliged to join power and skill as a last gift to this world before we too must depart it. There are few manners by which we might do this. Perhaps we may re-forge the friendship and collaboration of old somehow. Would it not be glorious for a woodland archer to learn the skill of boat building, and teach bow-skill in return? Though I do not fool myself that this alone will be enough to unite us. Some of this exchange occurs already, and has not done so. But I shall not speak today emptily. I shall not outline a problem and give no attempt at resolution. Therefore, my kin, I will now propose to you what I believe to be our reconnection.” 

He turned, and yelled to the servant waiting outside: “Bring in Legolas!”. She came scurrying into the room followed by a displeased-looking young prince. Legolas was guided by the servant to stand next to Thranduil at the head of the table. Having not yet seen his first century, he appeared miniature next to his father. The effect was enhanced by the flamboyant robes he wore, which matched Thranduil’s more or less exactly. Full of pride, he smiled at his son, who glared at him then looked at the floor, embarrassed. 

“Wonder not at the robes, my kin, for this is my proposal! I believe what we need to unite is a common form of dress; a shared sense of style. It is not such a radical suggestion. Just as there exists a Common Speech all peoples of Middle-Earth converse in to overcome the variations of native tongues, so too we elves should have a Common Style to overcome the variations in our clothing and hairstyling. Now, I must be mindful; I do not wish to risk offence. I have no hatred of any respective elven way of dress. The fact of the matter is that they all fall short of this particular style, which I believe superior to all in both appearance and practicality.” 

He indicated himself and Legolas. They were clad in long, swirling dress-robes of multitudinous shimmering colours. Their exteriors were almost iridescent, glinting like fish scales in the light whenever their wearers moved. Their linings were of more traditional, silken fabric; though gaudy in colour. Rich purple could be glimpsed among the folds of Legolas's glimmering robe, while a deep red flashed among Thranduil's.

“This of course will not be the only design included in the 'Common Style', as I name it. There will be a range of different pieces, just as there will be a range of acceptable braids and hair decorations. I will ask for your input on choosing these when the time comes. As elves, we have a responsibility to present ourselves well. And as elves united we may never be, until that unity is reflected in style for all to see. By my estimations, if by beauty we are united, all else shall follow. Leaving things as they now are is unfortunately not an option. I fear, if nothing is done, we will soon fall to the same fate as mortal men; to the same fate as the dwarves. We will become a race fragmented and fractured. Broken in bonds of appearance, broken in bonds of the heart. Already, there is so much variation in style between us, and this gap ever widens. There is bound to come a day soon, though I dread think of it, on which an elf will wear something uncoordinated, something ugly, and think it reasonable. Without intervention now, it shall come to pass that the first Children of Ilúvatar lose all sense of style. Hence, I have summoned you all here. Thank you, kin, for listening.”

Smiling, Thranduil sat back in his seat. Legolas hovered by his shoulder, thoroughly mortified, until the servant came to escort him away. A silence descended upon the room, stretching time into an unendurable labour; making each second seem an eternity. Thranduil’s smile began slowly to wane, and all eyes in the room avoided each other with practiced skill. Finally, after many ages seemed to have passed by, Círdan spoke:  
“King Thranduil, forgive me, but surely you jest?”

“Jest, Círdan? No, I do not jest. Perhaps the magnitude of the matter escapes you.”

“I’m afraid it must; for to me its magnitude seems small. The uniting of the elves, perhaps, is grand, but this notion of uniting style seems a distraction.”

“I assure you it is not! Style is of utmost importance! What say the rest of you?”

“It seems to me,” began Celeborn slowly “that Círdan speaks reasonably, I do think-”

“I believe Celeborn attempts to say is that he sees reason in both proposals.” Galadriel interrupted “But allow me to now clarify that you will have our support in developing further this endeavour, Thranduil. In the land of Lorien, we value fairness and beauty highly; so, it is true, do all elves. Perhaps you are correct; perhaps we ought to preserve this. Though, I digress, there must be some amendments made to your designs, but that is for later consideration.”

Thranduil smiled graciously, “Thank you, Galadriel. I would be honoured to have Lothlorien’s support.”

“O! Surely you both border madness in your vanity! Should not we be concerned with other matters?” lamented Círdan “Have I travelled long to sit alongside the great elf lords of Middle-earth, only to find them in the midst of a crisis of nothing more than vanity?"

“Alas Círdan, you offend me! I would not dare call such a meeting unless I thought the need sufficient. As for vanity, well, if that is the name you give to taste, then may you clad yourself in rags and dwell in your humility. I, myself, would rather be vain.”

“Come now! There is no need for such hostility. Círdan, it is a pity you feel so, but do you not see the need for the endurance of harmony and beauty? Even if this be in merely in matters of dress, should it not be upheld?”

“Perhaps beauty should endure, my Lady, but to me beauty is reduced by triviality. Anyway, let us see what Lord Elrond is so withheld about! Come, Elrond, what say you?” Círdan appealed subtly to Elrond for support. He felt greatly outnumbered for Celeborn, as ever, had bent like a twig under the will of Galadriel, and refused to meet his eyes.

“I say I was simply enjoying the discussion too much to intervene.” Smiled Elrond “My opinion, though, is that you speak nobly Lord Círdan, but King Thranduil’s proposition gives me pause. I admit to being intrigued by the idea of a ‘Common Style’; and Galadriel, the harmony you speak of is surely desirable. I, however, also take issue with the specific designs outlined, and wonder if perhaps more elegance and simple robes ought to be considered.”

Círdan shook his head, sighed, and said bitterly, “Very well then. If you all are deluded enough to consider this ‘Common Style’ then it should at very least be stylish! Tell me, Thranduil, you cannot honestly think glitter tasteful? ”

So the elven rulers in Middle-earth busied themselves discussing details, arguing over designs, and paving the way towards the beautiful future King Thranduil envisioned. For, if truth be told, he had little care for the uniting of his kin, and much for fashion. The elves of Rivendell could stay far over the Misty Mountains, Lothlorien could be lost to memory, the elves of the Grey Havens could grow gills, and King Thranduil would not batter an eyelid. That is, provided they all did so well-dressed.  
After much debate among their leaders on its details, most elves quickly and happily accepted Thranduil’s plan; and so it came to pass that the Elvenking’s ‘Common Style’ was adopted in every settlement of elves remaining in Middle-Earth. The elves, as they are now known by all creatures, have impeccable style.


End file.
